


Alibi for the Alibi

by willamaybeck



Category: Swindle (2013)
Genre: Book series, Books, F/M, Framed, Gordon Korman, Jackpot - Freeform, Showoff, hideout, jingle - Freeform, swindle - Freeform, unleashed - Freeform, zoobreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willamaybeck/pseuds/willamaybeck
Summary: Griffin and Pitch have been having a few...problems as of late, and when he needs her for an alibi for—what else?—a plan, their disagreements are all but ignored. // {oneshot; also on FanFiction & Wattpad}





	Alibi for the Alibi

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a list of 50 Dialogue Prompts from Tumblr. I did Number 42.  
> I aged up the characters because I feel more comfortable and confident writing high schoolers rather than elementary/middle schoolers.

**“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”**

Antonia “Pitch” Benson narrowed her eyes at her—friend? What were they in this instant? _“‘To establish an alibi’?”_ She felt herself switch to glaring at him. “Wow, Griff, way to make a girl feel special.”

                Griffin Bing exhaled loudly and maneuvered himself past her body and into the house. She shut the door behind him. “Pitch, I know we’re not on the best terms right now—”

                She didn’t let the wording slip by without snorting, following crossly after him into her home. “That’s an understatement.”

                He turned to face her, adjusting quickly. “Fine. I know you’re still _pissed_ at me,” when she didn’t interrupt he determined it to safe to continue speaking, “but this has to do with the plan.”

                Pitch merely looked at him, blinking. “What plan?”

                He silently cursed himself for the phrasing. “A top secret one,” he fumbled, biting down on his tongue.

                Her eyes shown through tiny slits. “So top secret you didn’t even tell me?”

                Griffin took in her crossed arms and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew this phase of the operation wouldn’t be simple, what with their very recent fight and…if he was being honest, _less_ (almost to the point of _not)_ recent change in emotions. “Not exactly. I just haven’t had time to inform you because _someone’s_ been ignoring my calls.”

                She shook her head, portions of her honey blonde hair slipping off her shoulder and cascading down her back. He couldn’t help but wonder if that movement was purposeful. His interest in blondes had been a running joke for awhile, until it wasn’t a joke anymore and things with the blonde he was interested _in_ got complicated.

                “Nope. Not this time, ‘Man with the Plan,’” she said in a condescending tone, turning to climb up the staircase’s railing on the side instead of just walking up the steps. “You don’t get to place the blame on me for this.”

                Griffin appeared shocked, catching up hastily by going up the actual stairs. “When have I ever blamed you for _anything?”_ he asked, head ducking down to make eye contact with her.

                She quirked an eyebrow, coming to a stop still dangling over the side of the railing. “’Pitch the Bitch’ ring any bells?” she challenged, tone suggesting she’d already made a valid point.

                He halted any movement and pressed his lips together agitatedly, not daring to respond. She had him there.

                “And anyway,” she started, flipping her slim frame over the railing so she stood in front of him, beginning to ascend the stairs ahead of him, “if you _really_ wanted me involved in one of your infamous _plans_ right now, you would’ve dropped by a hell of a lot sooner.”

                He had no choice but to follow, quickening his pace to stay close by. “Alright. Fine. I fault myself for failing to inform you of the latest operation. My bad.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair as they reached the second floor of the house. “But I figured my best shot for convincing you to play along with the alibi was if I talked to you about it in person.”

                Pitch stifled a laugh, sauntering around the upstairs family room. She opened her mouth, but just as swiftly closed it and swallowed the words _“fat chance.”_ Griffin’s plans were notorious for two things: one) nearly getting them all arrested, and two) working out neatly in the end despite prior bumps in the road. The only thing worse than being part of a plan was _not_ being part of a plan. If she kept playing the same annoyed role she’d reserved just for him these past few weeks, chances were he’d rewire the operation so it didn’t cross paths with her at all.

                She realized she’d stared at him for a moment too long and— _sure enough_ —there was that inquiring look he used to give her. She glanced away; now was not the time for those meaningful gazes. “What’s the alibi then?”

                “Well…” Griffin almost cringed at what he was about to say, but hey; she wasn’t watching him, so full speed ahead. “This Saturday night, I’ll be _here_ with you, discussing our…” He could almost feel her supercharged curiosity in the air. But maybe that was just the ever-growing tension between them. “Issues…”

                Pitch’s neck looked close to snapping; she turned back to him so quickly. She stared at him silently for a few beats before her mouth moved to form the words, “You’re kidding.”

                He let out a heavy sigh, semi-relieved she wasn’t grinning but at the same time wholly disappointed he didn’t get that telltale teasing reaction. “No, no I am not.”

                Her eyes searched his questioningly. “Why can’t you just be with Ben and Ferret Face on Saturday?”

                Griffin made another noise. “Because he’ll be over at Melissa’s, getting his phone made ‘ferret-proof.’”

                Pitch raised an eyebrow knowingly. “And where will _Melissa_ be?”

                “At Logan’s for…coaching on her singing. Camp Ta-da! isn’t letting just anyone in now, you know. It’s very exclusive. Tryout only these days.”

                “Let me guess. Logan will be at Savannah’s to practice acting out scenarios with so many different animals,” she deadpanned, arms subconsciously crossing once again, “and Savannah will be at your house for…what? Lessons on sensitivity?”

                He ignored the sure jab at their conflict—which _was_ because of his sensitivity problems, but only partly—and replied with, “Something like that, yeah. Circle of Alibis.”

                She fixed him with an unbelieving gaze. “Will our parents even believe that trick by now? We’ve been using it since sixth grade.”

                “It’s a wonder we’re still allowed to hangout,” he agreed, nodding slightly.

                She suppressed a smile. “Okay. So the Circle of Alibis lives. Patent pending.” That gained a grin from him, making her insides sear with a burning heat. She moved on. “But what’s it being resurrected for? What’s the plan about?”

                Griffin’s eyes flitted away for a moment before mumbling, “It’s probably best if you’re left in the dark on that part.”

                Pitch scoffed, the warmness she’d been feeling evaporating. “And yet it’s _best_ if I play along with your dumb lie?”

                His jaw tightened, forcing him to massage it before responding. “You haven’t even agreed to do _that,_ so I see no reason to give you too many details.”

                She put an arm out. “I mean, of _course_ I’ll do it,” she stated, voice oozing _duh_. “It’s for a plan—which is why I should be caught up.”

                “No climbing is needed in this one. We’re managing, and this way,” he pointed at her, “you’re less susceptible to the police.”

                She made no effort to stop the oncoming eye roll. Their friend group was almost halfway through junior year; soon enough the police wouldn’t treat them like they were still eleven-year-olds stealing _back_ a Babe Ruth baseball card from the local sleazebag. “Okay, whatever. Clearly you’re trying to ‘protect’ me or something,” she made air quotes, immediately regretting her word choice. He did try to protect her, and if his slightly reddening cheeks indicated anything, then that was exactly what he was doing right now, too.

                Pitch didn’t particularly want to ask what she was going to say next, but it was necessary. And sooner or later, they’d have to stop skirting around the problem and actually address things anyway. “I have another point to make though.”

                Griffin looked up at her and spread his hands. “Shoot.” This whole conversation was going much better than he’d initially anticipated.

                “If your parents think you’re over here… _chatting,”_ she was very careful with her vocabulary this time around, “then won’t they be expecting us to be back to normal the next time they see me?”

                Scratch that. The conversation just took a turn he wasn’t prepared for.

                _Where was the ever-needed plan for how to deal with sexual tension between you and your frustrating female friend?_

He tilted his head and ventured, “Maybe you won’t see them…?” That was definitely out of his usual fix-all personality, but he really, _really_ didn’t want to be discussing this.

                She didn’t humor him. “Really. Because I’m pretty sure that, whenever you pull off this elusive _plan_ and the cops start asking questions, your parents will want to know if I was in on it. So will my parents. And because of your _brilliant_ alibi, they’ll think we’re back on good terms as well.

                “Also, Griffin,” she looked around, speaking in a whisper of faux concern, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m _always_ in on your plans.”

                He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, holding back an amused smirk. “Yeah, that’s because we’re…” He trailed off, wondering how to finish the statement. Their eyes locked. “We’re…” He hadn’t meant to, but at that moment, the Man with the Plan threw all caution to the wind. “Pitch, what _are_ we?”

                She frowned slightly, eyebrows coming together in an adorable, scrunched up manner. “If I knew…that would make this whole thing a lot—”

                “Easier, yeah…” he finished for her, glancing away from both her and his complimentary thoughts.

                Pitch’s gaze wandered over him, and suddenly she couldn’t help herself. She said what she’d wanted to say since the brunt of their drama began. “You know…there are less obnoxious ways to say you like someone, Griffin.”

                His eyes snapped back to hers, all appreciative thoughts leaving his mind. “ _Yeah_ , and there are less obnoxious ways to _respond_ to someone saying they like you, too, _Antonia.”_

                Her right eye was partially obscured by her hair, vaguely imitating Melissa, but the curtain served to showcase her growing annoyance in the fact that she didn’t even push it away. _Antonia? What?_ “Excuse me if I was in a bad _mood.”_

                “Excuse me if I put myself _out there,”_ he bit back, head jerking forward when stressing the last two words.

                Silence engulfed them, both noiselessly fuming, when Pitch picked at a different tack. “Tell me about the plan.”

                “No.”

                She angrily threw her arms out, moving about the room as she spoke. “Well, Griffin, I don’t know what to tell you! Guess we’ll be here for awhile.”

                As soon as the words were out of her mouth, they heard the front door a floor below squeak open.

                “Antonia? We’re home,” her father Nick Benson called out.

                Griffin’s eyebrows shot upward into his hair. Frantically, he whispered, “Pitch, they can’t see me here before Saturday!”

                She quickly looked around and—of course—her eyes trained onto the window. She turned back to Griffin to see him making the same connection. _“Climb,”_ she ordered, gripping him by the arm and hauling him over to the wall.

                “Antonia?”

                “I’m up here, Dad!” Pitch said loudly, angling her head to project downstairs as she pulled the window open.

                Griffin hung one foot out the window and ducked his head underneath the raised glass portion, holding the screen up.

                “We brought dinner home!”

                “Footholds?” Griffin asked quietly, wishing more of Pitch’s hobby had rubbed off on him over the years.

                Pitch leaned her head out the window slightly to point to the spots where he should step.

                “Antonia?”

                Griffin grabbed onto the window sill and slowly lowered himself down to the first foothold, his other leg leaving the safety of the house.

                “Did you hear me?”

                Pitch anxiously watched Griffin continue downwards. “Yeah, Dad!” she yelled back. “Sounds grea— _ah!”_

                Griffin slipped in his descent, and would’ve tumbled down the side of the house had Pitch not reached for his upper arms and latched on for dear life—or his life, more correctly.

                “Antonia?”

                Pitch’s eyes stared straight into Griffin’s. “I am going to _kill you_ if you don’t die climbing down right now,” she threatened lowly, but he could tell she was freaked out and not truly angry.

                He regained his footing and grabbed onto something less fleshy and more unable to be pulled out the window after him. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized quietly, one hand sliding out of her hold until it rested on her own palm.

                “Antonia, are you alright?” Nick asked, his voice carrying right up the stairs.

                Pitch glared at him reproachfully. “Well don’t _startle_ me again,” she practically-growled.

                He squeezed her hand with his own, and for one second—just one second, all their drama subsided. Her eyes refused to move from his, and everything was laid bare for a moment. They were friends. They weren’t in a fight over the increasing urge to become more. And no hateful words that didn’t come from their hearts, which never _could_ come from their hearts, had been uttered.

                Then that moment passed and he released her, grabbing onto a solid handhold. Pitch’s heartbeat began to slow, but her mind was racing. _What was that?_ Her thoughts were full with hope, her irritation quickly changing to an almost giddy fantasy at what the future had in store.

                “Antonia?” Her father’s footsteps followed after her name.

                Pitch hurriedly grabbed onto the raised portion of the window. “You good?” she mouthed to Griffin, who nodded and granted her a small upturn of the corners of his mouth. He’d be fine.

                “Antonia!”

                Pitch quickly shut the window, careful not to do so too forcefully in fear of it knocking Griffin’s balance off for the second time. She hopped into the chair nearest the window and managed to rearrange herself into a normal sitting position just as her dad reached the top of the stairs.

                He stared at her, features showing apprehension. “Are you alright?”

                Pitch nodded a bit too quickly, tapping out an uneven beat on the chair’s arm. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just…you know…thinking?” It was a lame improvisation. Maybe she should’ve been asking Logan for acting lessons instead of spending so long climbing; perhaps that would’ve been a better investment—for this instant, at least.

                Nick took in her flushed cheeks (from the near-fall and the _moment_ directly after, even if he had no way of knowing so) then nodded as if he understood. “I see. Thinking about a certain Man with a Plan?”

                Pitch’s eyebrows rose alarmingly. “What?”

                He smiled quietly at his daughter. “Antonia. Your siblings and your mother and I have watched you with your friends since elementary school. You think we’d miss how you two aren’t speaking?”

                She swallowed audibly, uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed. “Um, yeah, that’s because…of…”

                “Oh, no, it’s fine.” Her father held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me what caused the shift in your attitude toward him.” He paused, before offering up some inside knowledge. “But whatever happened…it’s been coming for quite some time now. It would’ve shown its face eventually.”

                Pitch’s mouth was agape. She hadn’t given much thought to how their predicament had come to be—certainly not ever since the summer before eighth grade, when Griffin kissed the blondie Emma Hightower at the long-awaited dog show to aid in returning Luthor to his rightful owner, Savannah. Maybe his interest in blondes started there, but not his interest in _her,_ surely. But her father’s words had her second-guessing herself.

                When had _her_ interest in _him_ begun? That was one thing she could never seem to pinpoint, and it bothered her. Had the switch been so organic, such of a slow burn all along that she hadn’t took notice of it until lately?

                “Um…thanks, Dad, for the…” How could she explain what’d he just set in motion? “…words.”

                Nick nodded, heading back toward the stairs. “Coming to dinner? We got Mexican.”

                Pitch bobbed her head once. “Yeah, just give me a sec.”

                Her father disappeared out of sight, and she threw the window open again, peering down at where she last saw Griffin. He had made his escape so silently and so fast that he was already gone; not just from the side of the house, but the yard as well.

                She sighed to herself, rubbing one of her eyes, fingers spreading over her entire face. _Well that was nerve-wracking,_ she thought tiredly.

                She was halfway down the staircase when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. Pausing where she was, she checked the device.

                **To: Pitch**

**From: Griffin**

**We should probably talk at some point. I wouldn’t want to disappoint your father.**

Pitch’s tongue poked at the side of her cheek as she grinned in spite of herself, head rolling around until she was staring at the ceiling. Who knew the Man with the Plan had ears like a bat?

                She quickly typed out a response and set off down the stairs once more.

                **To: Griffin**

**From: Pitch**

**I hate you, you know that?**

She didn’t. And he knew that.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and leave kudos!


End file.
